Still You

by Claire Allan

  “Eve, you really do put me to shame,” I said, as she ladled out bowls of steaming pasta before pouring her home-made Arrabbiata sauce over it.

  She had outdone herself again – the parmesan cheese was grated in a bowl and there was garlic bread and salad prepared.

  “Mum, you know I like to cook. It’s a hobby. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”

  Sorcha sniffed and mumbled something that sounded like “goody-two-shoes lick-arse” but when I looked at her she was smiling. Normally I would be concerned about Sorcha being in good form two days in a row, it being very uncharacteristic of her, but I decided to push that worry away, just like I pushed my anger at Matthew away. Perhaps she was just maturing and was finally coming out of the teen-horror years, I thought. I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth by questioning. That would make me kind of insane. So I smiled back at her, reached out and squeezed my two girls’ hands before we started to eat. And once again I was grateful to have company in my home and to be able to share a meal with my children.

  “I love you both, so very, very much,” I told my girls between mouthfuls of pasta. “You know that, don’t you?”

  They nodded, gave each other a strange look and continued eating.

  Later as I poured some of the leftover sauce into a Tupperware container to take to Áine’s the following day, I thought about how none of us ever really know how life is going to turn out. I wondered if Áine had ever thought she would end up with dementia? None of us knew what was ahead of us. I suppose the best we could do was run with it and see where it took us – even if the thought of it taking me to Matthew’s new digs the following night filled me with a certain sense of dread.

  Cross that bridge when you come to it, Georgina, I told myself as I put the Tupperware in the fridge and switched on the dishwasher. There would be enough time for worrying about how to address the mystery lingerie in my husband’s house tomorrow.

  Chapter 7

  1964

  Charlotte was sitting on the back step, smoking a cigarette. Áine watched the smoke swirl and rise, blowing away on the breeze.

  “It’s like another world,” Charlotte said. “The heat, the brightness of the sun. It makes here look just so positively dreary.”

  Áine looked around the garden from where she knelt, weeding a flowerbed. It was a bright day. The garden was in bloom. There was a haziness, a comfortable relaxing atmosphere that she revelled in. She couldn’t imagine anywhere in the world less dreary than this garden filled with bright flowers, the smell of the herbs, the sweet scent of lavender filling the air and the sound of only a distant lawnmower.

  “I know you think this house is the centre of the universe,” Charlotte said. “But’s it not. This town is not the be-all and end-all. Oh Áine, you should hear how they talk. It sounds like singing. Sexy singing.”

  Áine blushed at her sister’s description.

  “Better than the harsh tones of the men around here who wouldn’t know how to compliment a woman if their life depended on it. These men – the Italians – they could simply be asking for the time and it sounds like they’re trying to seduce you.”

  “But you don’t want to be seduced,” Áine said, the word ‘seduced’ feeling coarse in her mouth. “You’re married.”

  “Yes, I’m married, not dead!” Charlotte laughed, tilting her head to the sun and batting away a butterfly which had landed close to her. “And besides, Jack doesn’t mind. It makes him feel like the king of the forest to have all the men pining over his wife. He says my boobs have helped him secure at least three export deals.”

  Áine blushed furiously and patted the soil from her gardening gloves – aware that her boobs (God, to even call them that! She preferred not to refer to her bosom at all if possible – she barely even registered she had one) had never secured anyone a deal – nor could she imagine they ever would.

  “You are awful,” she teased her sister.

  “Not a bit. I just live life to the full,” Charlotte said, reaching her arms out as wide as she could as if trying to grasp the whole world. “There’s a big world out there, dear sister, and I want to see it. If only you knew how much of a life there is outside of this house, this town, this dreary country of ours. I know you would love it. I know you would come to life – step out of your comfort zone, live a little.”

  Áine bristled. She knew her sister cared for her deeply – she always had – but she just couldn’t accept that Áine was happy with her lot. At least, she thought she was happy with her lot. In a way. She wanted to fall in love and get married. Of course. She wanted to start her own family, decorate her own home, plant her own garden. That was enough for her. Charlotte could never understand. She considered her boring. Áine knew her sister didn’t understand her quiet lifestyle, that she wanted her to see the world – but Áine didn’t want that and every now and again she wanted to scream at her sister to let her make her own choices and to stop trying to persuade her to be a person she never could be.

  “I do live a little,” she replied tersely.

  “Well, maybe you should live a lot then,” Charlotte said, stubbing her cigarette out on the concrete step and standing up to put her butt into the bin by the ivy-covered wall. “Do you not feel like a prisoner here? Living your life caring for Mum, keeping house, going to work. What do you do for fun?”

  “I have fun!” Áine said. “This is fun –” She gestured around her garden – the garden she had nurtured to life. “Cooking is fun. Teaching is fun. I go to the dances, sometimes.”

  Charlotte crossed the garden and hugged her sister. “I just worry about you,” she said, almost whispering.

  “I would tell you if there was something to worry about. I’m not the one living on the other side of the world, flirting with handsome Italians when I’m already married – waving my … my … boobs at them.”

  Charlotte never took offence. She never got cross. She just laughed off her sister’s comments. “My darling sister,” she said softly, “I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about with me either. Let’s not fight.” She hugged Áine. “I’m only here for a short time before we have to go to Italy again – I think we should have as much fun as possible. Let’s not ruin it with cross words? I’m sorry if you think I’m judging. I’m not judging you – I just want to share the world with you.”

  Áine lay her head gently on her sister’s shoulder and breathed her in. She could never quite pinpoint Charlotte’s scent. Her own was Pear’s Soap. But Charlotte, she smelled of expensive perfume, her skin always glowing with the effects of the sun. Her skin always felt so warm that Áine was transported in that moment back to the nights when she would have woken from a bad dream and climbed into the bed beside her sister who would have moved over and allowed her in, even though the bed was narrow and Áine liked to hog the covers. It was Charlotte who comforted Áine back to sleep, who hushed her and hugged and reassured her that the world was a good place and that monsters were not even one bit real and that the sun would always come up in the morning.

  “I miss you when you go,” Áine whispered. “You and the children. The house feels so much warmer when you’re all here.”

  “And noisier, I bet,” Charlotte said, kissing her little sister on the top of her head. “Those children of mine are going to give Mother Dearest a heart attack if they don’t keep it down!”

  Áine laughed. There was no doubt this grand house – which had been the envy of all their friends growing up – was noisier and brighter when Jonathan and Emma were about. It would have been impossible for it to be quieter than it was in their absence in fairness. Apart from the tinkle of the piano keys as she played for her mother or the occasional tinny rattle from the wireless on the kitchen counter as she prepared dinner or watched her mother measure out the flour and yeast for baking bread, the house was often in total silence. After her mother went to bed she would creep back downstairs to the kitchen where she could feel the warmth from the Aga, switch on th
e light and the radio and listen to songs of love and longing while she planned her lessons for the next day. Occasionally, and only when she could hear the snores of her mother echo down the wooden stairs, she would allow herself to sing along – and to close her eyes and imagine the songs were about her own life.

  “Jack is going to take the children to see his parents for a day or two,” Charlotte said, lighting another cigarette and taking a deep drag on it.

  Áine watched as her sister exhaled and the smoke rose, twirling into the sky, like clouds rising to meet more clouds.

  “Mother will be happy,” said Charlotte.

  Áine nodded. “You know she loves the children. But she is getting older. She is set in her ways.”

  “She’s only in her fifties for God’s sake! The way she goes on you would think she had one foot in the grave.”

  “Charlotte, she loves us all very much but she likes her routine. She likes things the way they were. She had to struggle for long enough – she doesn’t ‘do worry’ well now. Don’t judge her harshly for it.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath and exhaled just as slowly. “I’m not judging. But the pair of you … stuck in this house. Like Miss Havisham and that … God … that girl she had with her …”

  “Estella …”

  “Estella, that’s it.”

  “We’re nothing like them,” Áine said, her hackles rising slightly. “We’re just different to you. Mother says you got Daddy’s genes. That he had the wanderlust and she was always happiest at home.”

  Charlotte sighed, inhaled deeply on her cigarette. Áine knew her sister didn’t like to talk about their father. Perhaps it was easier for Áine because she didn’t remember him. She missed him, of course. It was something she wondered about from time to time – how she could miss someone she never really knew. But she did – yet when she tried to talk of him she could see a deep pain and sorrow in the eyes of her sister and her mother that made her back off – not wanting to cause them further pain. She had seen his picture of course – images of a bear of man looking stern and formal – standing tall beside her mother. Neither were smiling, despite the fact they were clearly both wearing wedding clothes and this was the happiest day of their lives. Charlotte told her once that he had a lovely smile. That Áine’s smile mirrored his. She had stood that night in front of the mirror and pulled a hundred different smiles, wondering which one she got from him.

  “So anyway,” Charlotte said, deftly changing the subject from one which obviously made her deeply uncomfortable, “with the children away, I thought us girls could go out to a dance. I know you say you are happy – but I know you love music. I know you love dancing. Áine, you always loved to dance – and you were good at it as well. Not like me and my size-seven left feet.”

  She removed her shoes from her feet and waved them at her. They had always laughed at how dainty Charlotte had less than dainty feet. When she was pregnant they had swollen to a size eight and she had spent the latter stages of her pregnancy wearing house slippers as they were the only thing that would fit.

  “So we’ll go,” said Charlotte. “I’ll lend you one of my dresses if you feel you have nothing appropriate. Hopefully you will have a pair of shoes suitable for outside of the classroom or gardening and we can do each other’s hair and make-up and I will even sneak in a little Babycham for us before we go out. Mother will never know. You can retain your Perfect Daughter crown! We’ll get Auntie Sheila to come over and sit with her. You won’t have to worry about her for a night.”

  Áine shrugged her shoulders. She couldn’t deny it – the thought of a night out sounded appealing. Especially if Charlotte would lend her a dress to wear. Charlotte had the most beautiful dress – lilac flowers, a full skirt – it was like something out of Vogue magazine. She wondered if Charlotte would loan her that dress? She had the perfect pair of cream shoes she had bought to wear to a wedding the year before which would go with it perfectly. But she was nervous. She hadn’t been out in a while.

  “Don’t shrug your shoulders,” Charlotte said. “I’ll be gone soon and you won’t go out and we won’t have the chance to dance around and be silly and flirt with men and smoke and laugh and have a little drink. Say you will, my lovely, lovely sister? If I can’t persuade you to come to Italy with me …”

  “You know I can’t leave Mammy and make a trip like that.”

  “Bring her. Get her away from here. From the ghosts of the life she could have had.”

  “Charlie, you know she would never leave here. He’s here for her. She couldn’t be anywhere else. And I, even if I wanted to, couldn’t leave her … not after everything …”

  “But you can leave her for a night? You can come dancing. Actually, I refuse to take no for an answer. You will come with me. I have seen you eye the lilac dress – you can wear it. In fact I insist you wear it. You can keep it even if you just agree to come out. Please, please, please!”

  Áine laughed. When Charlotte turned on the pleading, the big doe eyes, the cheeky smile, Áine could sometimes forget who was the big sister and who was the little sister.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Yay!” Charlotte said, kissing her and clapping her hands with joy.

  Chapter 8

  Present Day

  “Just the right amount of basil,” Áine said as she forked a mouthful of Eve’s pasta into her mouth.

  I couldn’t help but smile with pride that once again my daughter’s cooking was going down a treat. The poor old woman wouldn’t have been quite so complimentary if she was eating one of my creations.

  “Some people overdo the basil – but I prefer more oregano. And a splash of balsamic vinegar. And you know the secret to a good sauce? Just a square of dark chocolate.”

  Áine seemed more enthused, more alive than I had seen her yet.

  “You remember that, don’t you?” she said. “You taught me that, Charlie. When you came back from Italy? When Mother was shocked you didn’t want potatoes for dinner …” Áine stopped, taking another mouthful of her meal, and looked back at Georgina, her face falling a little, the realisation kicking in that she had drifted off again just a little. “You know what I mean … when my sister came back from her travels …”

  “Of course, Áine,” I nodded, playing it cool as if nothing untoward had happened. “Chocolate? I’d never have thought of that. Does it really work?”

  “You must try it … I could help,” Áine said, her voice lifting again, her face wide with expectation.

  “That sounds lovely,” I said. “I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two. I could bring some ingredients over.”

  “I used to have a larder full of fresh herbs and spices. In fact I used to grow them in the garden.”

  I glanced out the window to see a large garden that was clearly once loved very much. Now it had fallen into an awful state. Overgrown flowerbeds, flattened weeds, raised beds which looked sad and unloved dotted the garden, and the pathways which had clearly once been covered in gravel looked messy, tall brown weeds sprouting up like stubble.

  “Jonathan has plans to get it all covered over – a nice lawn laid. Says it will be easier to manage,” Áine said. “I know it makes sense – but my garden was my pride and joy for so long. I just can’t keep it now.”

  One of my biggest problems in life is that I often open my mouth before engaging my brain. It has got me into trouble more times than I care to think about, so it was no surprise that it was leading me almost directly back into trouble as I started with a “Well, maybe we could talk to Jonathan about saving even a little bit of the garden? We could work on it together.”

  Áine’s face lit up at the prospect, which gave me a nice warm glow that lasted all of about three seconds before I realised this meant I would have to talk to Jonathan – and ask him for stuff. Gardening stuff. It simultaneously dawned on me that I knew as much about gardening as I did about cooking – and that I was voicing ideas and making promises that I might not be able to l
ive up to.

  “Oh, do you think so?”Áine said. “I would love it. I can’t bear the thought of a summer not being out there getting my hands dirty in the soil. I know some people don’t get gardening, but it’s just one of those things I love …”

  I couldn’t go back then, I thought. And sure, from what I had read, if it was something that Áine always did it could well help with our memory work. I’d sell it to Jonathan like that. I was sure he would understand – after all, he did say he would do all he could to help his aunt.

  “Well, that’s two plans we have then,” I smiled. “Cooking and gardening. You just let me know what else you like and we’ll try and do it. Sure we have the time and we might as well make the most of it.”

  “Before I lose my mind altogether?” Áine said.

  She was smiling – but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was a smart woman. I imagined she would have been quite the wit in her day. We could skirt around her need for a carer but she knew what was happening to her – and while she tried to joke about it now, it was clear it weighed heavy on her mind.

  “You have to try not to worry about that, Áine. You’ve years ahead of you yet – and more adventures to have. Gardening sounds like an adventure to me. I’ve never so much as managed to keep a houseplant alive in the past. My girls used to come home from school with sunflowers each summer and I never once saw one bloom. I would nip out and buy some from the garden centre so the girls wouldn’t get upset.”

  Áine laughed – and I couldn’t help but notice there was something so girlish about her when she giggled. “You are very like her in a lot of ways, you know. You’re like Charlotte. She did what she wanted to. She was fearless. No one held her back. And she was absolutely atrocious at gardening too!”