by Tara Heavey
It was a bit like that with me and Paul. We had both made what felt like a momentous decision, and neither of us knew what to say next. I turned on the car radio to ease the awkwardness, and began to wonder if I had made a huge mistake.
We had to pick up Terence on the way home – Patricia had graciously agreed to mind him for the weekend. She nearly caused herself an injury at her own front door, craning her neck to make out who was in the car with me. If she did hurt herself, I knew the name of a good solicitor.... I had a feeling she’d be in my office first thing the next morning, searching for phantom files. I decided to save her the bother.
‘Patricia, I have somebody here I’d like you to meet.’
She followed me like a novice nun about to have an audience with the Pope.
‘Patricia, this is Paul. Paul – Patricia.’
They shook hands through the open car window.
‘Paul is my ex-boyfriend. He’ll be staying with me for a little while. He’s on his holidays.’ Best to be upfront right away.
‘Hello, Paul. Lovely to meet you. Are you a solicitor too?’
‘No, I’m an accountant.’
‘Really? Isn’t that lovely! And how long do you think you’ll be staying with us for?’
‘Probably just a few days.’
‘Is that all? We’ll have to do our best to convince you to stay longer, won’t we, Lainey?’
‘We will, Patricia.’
‘And how long did you say you two were going out for?’
‘We didn’t. Look, we’re pretty tired after our journey; we’d better be off. Thanks again for looking after the dog.’
‘Not at all. He was no trouble. See you bright and early tomorrow morning.’ What – she was planning on coming in before ten, for a change?
‘God, she’s nosy. Are they all like that down here?’ asked Paul as we pulled away from Patricia’s house. I could see her receding figure, waving at us enthusiastically, in the rear-view mirror.
‘No, she’s the nosiest I’ve met. But she’s very nice. And wait until you taste her jam.’
I found that I wanted him to love everything about Ballyknock and everyone in it.
Slinky – intrepid little explorer; she had been missing for the best part of a week – was waiting for us back at the cottage. Having feared the worst, I scooped her up and hugged her tiny, purring body before letting us both into the house. She licked my hand with her little sandpaper tongue.
‘Um ... you don’t let the cat indoors, do you?’ said Paul.
‘Of course I do.’
‘What about toxoplasmosis?’
‘Toxoplas-what?’
‘Toxoplasmosis. You get it from handling cat shit.’
‘Funnily enough, fondling cat turds has never been a major hobby of mine.’
It probably wasn’t the best time to mention Slinky’s endearing habit of making a little nook for herself on my unmade duvet. The story made us both look bad.
Paul followed me into the house, and I gave him a quick guided tour.
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m impressed. It’s not what I expected. I thought it would be more basic. But it’s like something out of an Ideal Homes magazine.’
I beamed with pleasure, as if I’d designed and built the cottage myself. Terence, who had joined the tour halfway, wagged his whole body with delight at being home and at the prospect of having an extra playmate. He gazed up at Paul expectantly.
‘Um ... you keep the dog in the house, too?’
‘Yes. Where else would I keep him?’
‘I just assumed he’d be chained up outside.’
Chained up outside! How would he have liked to be chained up outside? I was a little annoyed, but I decided not to mention for the time being that Terence slept at the foot of my bed.
Talking of bed, we retired soon after that. I showed Paul to his room and exited rapidly, muttering ‘Good night’ to his feet before closing the door firmly between us.
As luck would have it, it poured with rain all day Monday. The spectacular views that I’d been raving about were virtually non-existent. I sped home from work that evening torn between eagerness to see Paul and anxiety that the first day of his holiday had been a complete washout.
He was waiting for me in the kitchen, wooden spoon in one hand, tea-towel in the other. It was lovely having someone to come home to. I almost asked him then and there to be my wife.
‘What did you get up to today?’
‘Well,’ he began primly, ‘I cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom.’
‘But I only cleaned it last week.’
Paul gave me a look that said, Call that cleaning?
‘Are you casting aspersions on my housekeeping skills?’
‘What housekeeping skills?’
‘I resent that,’ I said – although privately I felt it was fair comment.
‘I don’t know how you haven’t contracted salmonella.’
‘I don’t eat salmon.’
‘If you were a hotel, they’d close you down.’
‘But this isn’t a hotel, Paul.’
‘If it were, at least I’d be able to sue you if I got food poisoning.’
‘Oh, give it a rest. What’s for dinner? I’m starved.’
‘Is chicken stir-fry all right for Madam?’
‘Yes, thanks. Smells great. Where did you get the wok? Did you bring it with you?’
‘No, Lainey. It was in the press under the cooker.’
Really? Fancy that.
I did know where he’d got the ingredients. I usually had plenty of healthy food in my kitchen. This was because only the unhealthy stuff actually got eaten. Maybe with Paul here, I wouldn’t have to keep throwing my veggies out all the time.
Dinner was amazing. I contributed by opening a bottle of wine and clearing up afterwards. Quid pro quo.
At about eight, I noticed that Slinky hadn’t come home for her tea. ‘Did you see the cat today?’
Paul pursed up his lips like – well, like Slinky’s arse, actually. ‘Yes, I did, as it happens. You’ll never guess what he did.’
‘She.’
‘Whatever. I was taking in the washing off the line –’ What washing? Oh, yes ... I vaguely remembered hanging out a load sometime last week. ‘And I had it all neatly folded and ready to iron, and I turned my back for two minutes – and wasn’t the cat fast asleep on top of the pile!’
No! What scandalous feline behaviour.
‘So I had to wash it all again.’
‘That was a tad extreme.’
‘Lainey! You’d never know what you might catch.’
You never knew. Toxoplas-whatdoyoucallit or anything.
Slinky did little to redeem herself the next day by jumping in through the open window with an almost-dead baby rabbit in her mouth. I tried my best to explain to Paul that this was probably intended as a welcome gift to him, but he wasn’t having any of it.
It had bucketed down all day long again. Paul hadn’t had a very good day. He had broken the fridge whilst attempting to defrost it with a blowtorch (‘It was a disgrace, there was a yoghurt in there that was older than me,’ yadda yadda yadda). I was beginning to despair. At this rate, he’d be gone by Thursday.
But, on Wednesday, the heavens stopped conspiring against me. The day dawned bright and clear and stayed that way. I drove home at lunchtime to say hello, but there was no sign of Paul or Terence. When I got home that evening, the first thing I saw was a bunch of wild flowers sitting in the middle of the dining-room table.
‘Where did they come from?’
Paul emerged from the kitchen, grinning. He looked thoroughly at home in a pair of biodegradable trousers and a lived-in T-shirt. I’d rarely seen him look so relaxed. Or so scruffy.
‘Do you like them?’
‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘I picked them while I was out on a walk.’
He described to me where he had been. It was more like a hike than a walk.
>
‘While I was picking them, a guy on a red tractor stopped and asked me why I was weeding along the side of the road.’
‘Where did the vase come from?’
‘The cupboard under the sink. Lainey, did you open any of the presses before I got here?’
I ignored this. ‘Did you bring Terence with you?’
‘It wasn’t so much that I brought him as that he decided to come along. I told him to stay, but he wouldn’t. You’re not very obedient, are you, Terence?’
Terence sat between us, looking from one face to the other with adoring doggy eyes. He woofed softly at the sound of his name. If Paul really hadn’t wanted to bring him, he could have locked him in the house, but I decided not to point this out.
Paul enthused about the countryside for about an hour that night. He didn’t say a thing about going home.
On Thursday evening, I came home to an even more elated Paul.
‘The local priest called around to welcome us to the community.’
‘Us?’
‘He assumed I was your husband.’
‘Did you put him right?’
‘I told him I was just a houseguest. He knew all about you, though – that you were the local solicitor, and that you worked for Tyrone and came from Dublin.’
I was still confused. ‘What’s so great about a priest calling round? Was he very nice?’
‘Far from it. He was a complete bastard. He sat there for half an hour, drinking your tea and eating your biscuits and giving out about solicitors. According to him, it’s your lot’s fault that all those priests have been done for sexual abuse. He particularly hates Tyrone, by the way.’
Tyrone had handled a few such high-profile cases.
‘I hope you stuck up for me.’
‘No.’
‘Thanks a bunch.’
‘But Terence did. While the priest was ranting on, I was watching Terence out in the garden. He got sick and then ate it.’
‘Charming.’
‘So I let him in, and he went straight over to the priest and licked his hand.’
‘Did you, Terence? Good boy!’
‘He shed a shitload of fur onto the bottom of your man’s trousers, too.’
‘Oh, did you? You’re such a good boy.’
We petted Terence profusely and promised him extra treats for his supper that night.
‘Lainey....’
‘Yes?’
‘Is it all right if I stay till the end of the week?’
‘You can if you like.’
The end of the week came and went, and neither one of us said a word about Paul going home. I took a few days off work and we toured the countryside. I brought him to hot spots that Jack and Matt had shown me. I didn’t tell him that, of course. What do you take me for? Have you forgotten that I’m a lawyer and therefore used to being flexible with the truth? We even went out for a drink in Power’s with Jack one night. I was a little nervous, but the two men got on great. It seemed that Paul only had a problem with gay men when they tried to chat him up.
We were sitting in the conservatory one evening towards the end of the second week, in total silence, watching the sun sink down into the river valley. A spider spun a silken palace in the corner of the room. We watched the birds having their final feed before bedtime, singing their sweet incantations. Paul had made me a little birdhouse, using pieces of wood and old tools that he’d found in the shed.
We had just had a long conversation about his father. It was the first time Paul had ever really talked to me about him. He sat motionless, glass of wine in hand. Slinky was curled up fast asleep in his lap and Terence lay across his feet. He turned his head slowly towards me.
‘You’re going to find it hard to leave all this behind.’
‘Hmmm?’ I was so relaxed that at first I didn’t register what he was saying.
‘When you come back to Dublin; you’re going to miss this place. When are you coming back, again?’
‘I’m not.’
Paul sat up, and Slinky poured off his lap like hot oil.
‘What do you mean, you’re not?’
I forced myself out of my drowsy haze. ‘I’ve decided to stay here.’
‘Forever?’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. For the foreseeable future, anyway. Sorry I didn’t say anything before. I’ve been meaning to tell you.’
Nothing was said for a while.
I finally broke the deadlock. ‘Could you ever see yourself living somewhere like this?’
Paul smiled at me gently. ‘I suppose so. If the circumstances were right.’
It was Saturday. Already. Paul was due back in the office that Monday. The atmosphere was strained, for the first time since his arrival.
He had insisted on cooking a special meal, to thank me for letting him stay. While the preparations were in full swing, I went out for a walk – partly to get out of the way, and partly to clear my head. So many thoughts were whirling around inside it. The two weeks had gone so well ... only not as well as I had hoped.
Paul was still my ex-boyfriend.
The delicious cooking aromas wafted down the hill to greet me on my return.
‘Mmm. What is that?’
‘Thai chicken curry.’
‘No, that other smell. Something sweet.’
Paul smiled proudly. ‘Peach pie. There were all these peaches in the fruit bowl, just going to waste, so I thought we could use them up tonight.’
I couldn’t help but notice Paul’s edginess throughout the meal. Even when we were sitting on the sofa afterwards, he seemed ill at ease.
‘Paul, what’s wrong?’
He rested his forehead in his hand, covering his eyes. ‘I have some things I want to say to you.’
I swallowed. ‘Go on.’
It took him a while to get going.
‘Well ... first of all, I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay with you these past two weeks. I’ve had a brilliant time, and it was just what I needed.’
‘I had a great time too.’
‘Did you really?’ His voice was sharp.
‘Yes, really,’ I said softly, admiring the curls that were starting to develop at the nape of his neck. I’d never known he had curly hair.
‘Because I don’t know why you invited me down. Let’s face it, I was a crap boyfriend.’
‘You weren’t –’
‘Yes, I was. Let me finish, please, Lainey. I was petty, jealous, insecure, controlling –’
‘Paul –’
‘Don’t try and deny it.’
‘Well, okay; it’s partly true. But it’s not as if I’m without fault, and it didn’t stop us from having fun a lot of the time – did it?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘And we’ve had fun these last two weeks.’
He nodded.
‘There you are, then.’
But Paul wasn’t planning to forgive himself that easily. ‘I was such an idiot, though – that time in the hotel in Kerry. I can’t believe the way I acted. Like with Eric – how could I have been so stupid? I’m so sorry, Lainey. I don’t blame you for dumping me. I deserved it.’
‘Paul! There’s no need to be sorry.’
‘There’s every need.’ He startled me by gripping my hand urgently. It was the closest physical contact we’d had since he’d got there. I swallowed again. Paul’s hazel eyes were fairly glowing.
‘I’d do anything for another chance, Lainey – a chance to show you how much I’ve changed. Anything.’
It was all I could do to breathe.
‘Hold on. Don’t say anything yet.’ He stood up abruptly, went into his room and returned carrying a book.
‘Is that for me?’
‘For both of us, really. If you want.’
He handed me the book.
Tantric Sex. I could feel myself blushing as I flicked through the pages.
‘I bought it a few days ago.’
‘Did you, now?’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes. I’ve been reading it while you were in work. There are some things in it I thought we could try ... but only if you want to. I’ll understand if you’re not interested.’
I took a deep breath.
‘Well, seeing as how it is Saturday night ... this position on page fifty-five looks interesting.’ I showed him the page. ‘If you think your thigh muscles are up to it.’
As I led him by the hand to the bedroom, he said to me, ‘Would it be okay if I stayed for another week?’
Epilogue
It was the perfect day for a wedding – Midsummer Day. It was also two years to the day since Paul had decided to hand in his notice and move permanently to Ballyknock.
A marquee had been erected in the garden of Power’s Cottage. Festooned with flowers and fairy lights, it ran from the gable end of the house right down to the cherry tree. Beautiful though the marquee undoubtedly was, none of us could bring ourselves to go inside just yet. The glorious evening was too enticing. Instead, we all sat and chatted at wooden picnic tables.
My father and Chen had turned their newly dry-cleaned suit jackets into goalposts and were trying to teach LuLing how to play soccer. Like any woman worth her salt, she couldn’t see the point. Every time the ball came near her, she picked it up and ran with it, giggling hysterically as her daddy and granddad gave chase, her chubby little legs going like pistons. Dad and Chen discussed it and came to the conclusion that she might be more suited to Gaelic football.
But everybody else knew that ice-skating was her thing. Mum had insisted that Tatiana bring LuLing skating the moment she could walk – and LuLing, in her custom-made skates, had taken off across the ice as if she was born to it. She now went twice a week, and her mammy and granny had excessively high hopes involving Olympic gold medals.
Annie sat down on the fragrant lawn beside me and called out to her husband, ‘Don’t come running to me when you’ve got grass stains all over your jacket.’ Chen grinned at her and continued chasing LuLing around the garden.
‘How are you feeling?’ Annie asked, looking searchingly into my face.
‘Like Humpty Dumpty’s sister.’
‘And the ankles?’
