by Claire Allan
“Dolly Daydream,” Charlotte said, laughing, “You off in your own little world again? Is it a world with Lorcan in it?”
Áine tried to stop the smile from forming on her lips but she couldn’t. It had been most unexpected. When she thought of how she almost hadn’t gone out to the dance and how she had originally told Lorcan she was fine and didn’t need a drink from him, she thanked her lucky stars that Charlotte had been around to turn things about. If her sister hadn’t been there – and if she hadn’t insisted that she dance with Lorcan – well, she would have missed the feeling of being held his arms and the comfortable way in which her head rested on his chest as they moved around the dance floor at the end of the evening, their feet sore but their hearts light.
She had felt giddy when the lights came up and she gathered her things.
“I’ll walk you home – both of you,” Lorcan had offered and Charlotte had stepped in quickly to accept the invitation.
“But don’t mind me,” she said. “I’ll walk ten steps ahead the whole time and I’ll not look back even once. I’ll not eavesdrop – unless it gets really juicy and then, to be honest, I’ll not be able to stop myself. I always have been terribly nosy. But I don’t tell stories, not beyond Jack anyway … and he doesn’t listen most of the time.”
Lorcan looked at Áine quizzically and back at Charlotte and back again at Áine who was more than used to her sister’s mannerisms.
“She’s good for her word,” she said, emboldened by the few drinks she had taken and the warmth of the look on Lorcan’s face as he took her hand.
“Well then, lovely ladies, I would be more than happy to escort you back – one of you at a safe distance – to your home. Although as a very respectable man there may not be too much juicy to report back. Not on a first date anyway.”
“He’s calling it a ‘date’,” Charlotte said, nudging Áine who was flushed with a combination of embarrassment and excitement.
A date. He had definitely said ‘a date’ – even if it hadn’t started that way. And it certainly felt like a date. A pretty perfect date – starting off a little awkwardly perhaps but soon transforming into something altogether more memorable. As they’d danced they had chatted, about work of course – and the perils of the classroom, not to mention the perils of the staffroom – but they had spoken of much more. Their shared love of the cinema, of good books, of good music. He loved to potter around his garden as much as she loved to potter around hers. The conversation was free and easy and neither seemed to mind when the other stepped on their toes or moved just that few seconds out of time with the music.
As they walked back to Temple Muse the warm night air washed over them. Lorcan took her hand and she felt secure, warmed by his touch. Yes, she felt shy. She still felt like the wallflower she undoubtedly was – but perhaps just a little less like an outsider in her own life. It was a feeling that she revelled in – even if nothing else would come of it. Even if it was just the gin and tonic talking. Even if it was just Charlotte’s meddling and determination to play Cupid gifting her with her very own pair of rose-tinted glasses. She was out, and she felt a little tipsy and light-headed and the man who was holding her hand – standing a full head above her, occasionally glancing down and smiling at her, his face creased, his stubble forming, his suit smelling of cologne and cigarettes – was telling her he was sorry she didn’t live further away as he wasn’t quite ready for the walk home to end just yet.
They reached the path, the gravel crunching a little too loudly now that they were getting ready to say goodbye. Then again her heart was thumping pretty loudly too. It had been a long time since she had stood this close to a man, since she had felt a man’s breath on her cheek, felt the touch of his hand on her face as he moved it up towards his. She tried to look at him – to stay cool, to stop herself from trembling like the inexperienced eejit she felt herself to be. She could almost imagine she heard Charlotte telling her to calm down and relax enough to enjoy the moment. So she did, as he kissed her. And she did as he told her he had a wonderful evening, and that thanks to her he was very much looking forward to the summer holidays being done and dusted and going back to work. But he wondered could he see her, again, and soon?
Standing now, in the kitchen kneading the bread, planning for dinner and thinking of the following day, when Lorcan had promised he would pick her up and take her for a drive to the beach, Áine couldn’t help but smile again – even if it did annoy her when Charlotte called her Dolly Daydream. Sure there was nothing wrong at all with losing yourself in a memory or in thinking about what is yet to come.
“Are you thinking about Lorcan?” Charlotte asked. “You’ve blushed a little.”
“Don’t be so nosey,” Áine smiled, turning back to her work but soon finding herself lost in her memories again – and blushing at them too.
Charlotte of course took the pause to confirm that Áine had indeed been thinking about Lorcan and she walked across the room and wrapped her arms around her sister, squeezing her tight.
Áine shrugged her off, pinching some flour from the sack and throwing it at her sister.
“You’re an awful tease,” Charlotte said to her. “Not spilling all the gossip about Lorcan right away.”
“Sure what if I am? I’m a woman of mystery now, with a life of her own and secrets. Wasn’t that your plan all along?”
Charlotte rubbed the flour from her cheeks and laughed. “Well, maybe not all along. You know, my original plan was that you would finally agree to come and see the world with us but you have steadfastly refused …”
“You know I can’t –”
“I know you won’t,” Charlotte replied pointedly, “but that’s by the by. Let’s not argue. Anyway as you won’t come and see the world with us – as you refuse to believe that wine really tastes so much better under the Tuscan sun, or that the gardens in Italy can be more sumptuous than anything you can have imagined here, or that there is more to life than baking bread and walking to school to teach in the rain … the next best thing I could ever wish for you is that my lovely little Dolly Daydream sister has something real and lovely and wonderful to daydream about. It’s because I love you, so utterly, so very much that I worry so. You do understand that?”
Charlotte’s eyes were wide and her voice was choked and, for a second, just the briefest of moments, Áine wondered if Charlotte – she who so rarely showed any emotion – might just cry.
“Of course I understand, Charlie. Of course I do. I love you, my lovely sister, and I love that you watch out for me so.”
“It’s just us, you know,” Charlotte sniffed.
Áine took a deep breath. She knew where this conversation was going – and it always ended in tears. With the death of their daddy they had leaned heavily on each other. Charlotte had vowed that she would always be there for her little sister and yet she had fought all her life between that need to take care of Áine and her need to spread her own wings and get away from a house which contained the one great sad memory she could never escape. She had torn herself to pieces with guilt when she had first fallen for Jack and decided to travel Europe with him. There wasn’t a moment she wasn’t aware that she had left her sister back at home taking care of their mother who had withered with age and was becoming more and more reliant on a young woman who should be in the prime of her life.
Every time Charlotte came home, they had this conversation – in one way or another. Charlotte would tell Áine how she would always be there for her and she would say she knew and they would make mention of their sometimes difficult past. Áine loved her sister so very dearly but she felt uncomfortable with this conversation. She wanted Charlotte to accept she was no longer the scared little girl who had climbed into bed with her when she had bad dreams, nor was she the teenager who, despite being happy for her sister at finding a man who loved her as much as Jack did, cried at her wedding day. She was okay and she could find her own way.
“Let’s just enjoy tonight,”
Áine said. “I’m making a salad to go with this bread. Why don’t you help me by washing that lettuce and chopping some tomatoes? I was hoping you might make up some of your famous potato salad as well.”
Charlotte wiped away a tear. “Good change of topic, Áine.”
“Yes, well, we don’t need to keep going over old ground. Believe me, I know you love me. I know you are there for me and I know all you want is happiness for me. And that’s all I want for you as well. And yes, I’m going out with Lorcan again so you can be pleased that your scheming has worked – but let’s just be happy. All of us. Mother too.”
Charlotte nodded. “Okay,” she said, lifting the lettuce and beginning to run it under the tap. “But you know, don’t you?”
“I know,” Áine said, nudging her sister gently. “I always know.”
Present Day
Áine was quiet on the drive back to Temple Muse. I presumed she was tired, as I had stifled a yawn or two myself since our walk along the shorefront and our chat in the car while we enjoyed our makeshift picnic.
“We’ll come back in the summer, get those chips then. And we’ll drown them in salt and vinegar,” I had said as we sipped our tea, Áine having said she didn’t feel up to them just then.
“And ice-cold milk. My mother used to wrap the bottles in wet newspaper. She swore it kept them cool,” Áine had replied, staring out across the lough, watching the sunlight twinkling off the rippling tide.
“I must try that trick,” I said, “if ever I can persuade my girls to come out for the day with me. They don’t think it’s too cool to spend time with their mum any more. Not for daytrips anyway. It’s all about going into town with their friends and spending a mini-fortune in Primark.”
I watched as she sipped again from her tea.
“I suppose we all go through a bit of that,” she said. “Not wanting to spend time with our parents. And then, when we can’t, we would give anything for another day out. I still miss my mother. It sounds silly, doesn’t it? I’m an old lady. I never thought old people still missed their parents. But I miss my mother. She was as tough as old boots. But she had her moments. She could make it better, when she wanted it to. She tried her hardest … and I miss her.”
Áine’s words trailed off and again I tried to think of a way to comfort her, but what could I say? Áine was right. I had never really thought of old people grieving for their parents. I had imagined by your senior years you would have made peace with whatever life had dealt you. So, lost for words, I simply reached out and held the older woman’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Wouldn’t it be brilliant,” Áine said, “if this disease worked in my favour? If I could choose what I get to forget? And choose what I never will? I’d make that list. I’d know what I would forget – and what I would hang on to forever.”
“I could do with that deal myself,” I said, softly. “I’d like to erase parts of life – whole swathes of it. But I suppose we don’t get that chance so we just have to make the best of what we have.”
“And enjoy the moments at the beach.”
“And the hot cups of tea.”
“And a warm car to get back into,” Áine said.
“And a warm bed to sleep in,” I said.
“At the end of the day, it’s the small things that matter. Thank you, Georgina. Thank you for taking me out today and for the scones. Although promise me you will bring the girls of yours round for a baking lesson? I know I could teach you to do a much better job than those shop-bought efforts.”
Áine smiled and I smiled too before switching on the engine and heading back to Temple Muse.
Chapter 12
Present Day
“You don’t have to work tomorrow!” Sinéad cheered, shaking a bottle of wine in my direction when I opened the door that evening. She had also bought a box of Maltesers and a family-sized bag of Tayto Cheese and Onion.
I welcomed her in, and she followed me to the kitchen and we set about taking a few glasses and some bowls out of the cupboards.
“Well, my dear,” she said as we curled up on my sofa and sipped from our glasses, “how did the trip to the seaside go? And, more to the point, how is grumpy Hegarty and his grumpy but probably misunderstood ways?”
“The trip to the beach was lovely. Strange, in a way. I could tell Áine was lost in her own memories. It’s very sad, you know – watching someone look back on their life and try to hold onto it.”
“I can imagine,” Sinéad said solemnly.
“But she’s a lovely woman. I don’t want to be all doom and gloom about it. She has a wicked sense of humour when she wants to.”
“And a handsome and eligible nephew?” Sinéad winked.
“Would you ever stop about that man?” I laughed. “Honestly, he’s insufferable. But thankfully today I didn’t have the pleasure of his company.”
“Doth the lady protest too much?”
“Sinéad!” I chided her. “Don’t push it. When it comes to Jonathan Hegarty, there is no way I could protest too much. It’s hard to see how he and his aunt could be so close. They seem to be polar opposites.”
“Okay, okay!” she said, raising her hand. “I hear you. I just want you to be happy. You know what they say, pet, the best way to get over a man is to get under another one.”
I shuddered at the thought of Jonathan Hegarty, and his reserved snobbery, in the nip trying to be passionate. Then again I shuddered at the thought of myself, and my inexperienced, baby-battered, middle-aged body in the nip trying to be passionate as well. I’d only ever been passionate with one man in my life – and I didn’t want to be passionate with anyone else. I wanted the last few months to disappear and for everything to be how it was when I thought everything was ticking over just fine in my marriage.
Sinéad must have seen the look on my face because she continued: “I don’t want to be insensitive. You know me. I just like to fix things. Throw solutions at problems. It works well in the magazine – perhaps it doesn’t work so well in friendships. I know you still have issues with Matthew.”
Issues. Him not loving me any more was simply ‘an issue’?
Unexpectedly tears pricked my eyes again.
“Are the girls with him this weekend?”
I nodded, and took a deep breath to settle myself. “They weren’t keen to go. I think last week rattled them – knowing for definite their daddy was moving on. Eve wanted to stay with me – but I don’t want to risk him telling me that I have turned them against him.”
“He could do with a bit of you turning them against him,” she said, before looking at me. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll stop it. I know that you still have feelings for him. I know that I shouldn’t speak ill of him. I’m just angry on your behalf.”
“I’m angry too,” I admitted. “He just walked away and is getting on with his life. I’m picking up the pieces.”
“Well, I’ve big hands and don’t mind helping you lift a few pieces whenever you need me to.”
“I know, pet. And I love you for it. I really do.”
“You had better. After all, who else would bring you such fine snacks as Maltesers and Tayto on a Friday night?”
“Indeed. I am spoiled rotten.”
“And don’t you forget it. Look, pet, you know I love you to the moon and back. You will come through this and be happy again. I know it. I feel it in my bones and my bones are never wrong.”
I smiled a watery smile back at her. At least I had Sinéad. She was like the sister I never had and I knew she would never let me down.
1964
Jack Hegarty was, in every sense, larger than life. Áine supposed he had to be to convince her sister to settle down. Áine couldn’t have imagined anyone else ever convincing her sister to marry and have children. She had always vowed to travel the world and to never have to worry about lugging children with her. But Jack made her feel and think differently. There was something about his over-confidence – his way of making everything seem in
finitely doable – that made Charlotte feel she could take on the world, even with children by her side. And, to her surprise, she thrived at being a mother. Sure, her idea of parenting was far from conventional. She didn’t believe for one second that children should be seen and not heard and it was always obvious when the Hegarty family were in residence by the noise they created – the singing, the laughter, the shouting and constant, unending chatter. Áine revelled in the confidence that poured from every nerve of her niece and nephew. She loved watching the caring mother her sister was. The children had Jack’s confidence and Charlotte’s sense of fun – but they were raised well. They knew their limits. The lack of conventional schooling had not deprived them of a wealth of knowledge they loved to share and Áine was seldom happier than when sitting at the table at mealtimes with her family around her, talking about all the things her niece and nephew had seen and experienced. And she loved watching Charlotte positively glow with pride as her children spoke. She loved the way Jack would reach across the table and stroke her sister’s hand and how the four of them seemed to have their own way of communicating – their shared jokes, the secret smiles. She would have been jealous if she didn’t love them so much and if, of course, they didn’t have a way of making her feel that she belonged when she was in their company.
They sat down to tea that evening, her freshly baked bread sliced and set in the middle of the table, surrounded by cold cuts of ham and corned beef, salad, boiled eggs and cheese. Jonathan perched on her knee making a sandwich while Emma, with all the authority of an eight-year-old, regaled them with stories of their trip to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
