Still You

by Claire Allan

  She smiled brightly and I was glad that I had come over – and as I followed her into the garden I was excited about actually getting started on our project together.

  Áine was a natural as she moved about, setting things up for our first two raised flowerbeds.

  “This was where the vegetable garden was,” she said. “We didn’t always get a good crop, but when we did it felt brilliant to have grown the food ourselves. I didn’t bother so much after mother died – seemed pointless growing for one and I suppose my heart went out of it a bit. Besides I had other things on my mind then …”

  “Life always has a habit of running away on us, doesn’t it?” I asked, as I set about turning over the fresh soil with a trowel, to ready it for planting.

  “It sure does. But you know people say we have to stop and take time to smell the roses more but no one does. Not until you are like me anyway, and the roses are past their best. Life gets busy.”

  “That’s for sure,” I said. “Seems like only yesterday my girls were toddlers, starting out in the world, and now they’re studying for their GCSEs, looking grown-up and thinking about leaving home to go and study.”

  “You don’t look old enough to have teenage daughters,” Áine said.

  “I was a child bride,” I laughed. “I married my childhood sweetheart. We had the girls young. We thought we knew it all.”

  “The young always think they know it all,” Áine said. “And so it should be – none of us are guaranteed the luxury of growing old.”

  Her face clouded and I knew not to push further – not today anyway. Today we would have a good day.

  We worked companionably together for a few hours, Áine animated as she explained to me exactly what to do. She was a natural teacher – and was in her comfort zone. I relaxed in her company too and knew that I had done the right thing by coming over. It was a definite improvement on sitting around the house moping.

  Shortly after noon, we heard a male voice call out from the house. It was Jonathan.

  Áine smiled brightly at the sound of his voice and chirped, “My boy has come to visit!”

  He looked strange – dressed casually – as he walked into the garden. There was no sign of the tailored suit, the super-shined shoes, the close shave. He wore a pair of loose chinos, a smart checked shirt over a white T-shirt and a pair of Converse. He had a trace of salt-and-pepper stubble on his face.

  He smiled broadly at his aunt. It was a rare unguarded moment – that is, until he spotted me, leaning over the flowerbed, trowel in my hand. I offered a brief hello, and he raised his eyebrow in return.

  I wondered if he was concerned I was billing him for this – so I spoke quickly. “It was such a nice day and I found myself at a loose end, so I thought we could get started on the garden. Don’t worry, I won’t get in the way.”

  He looked at Áine, as if looking for some confirmation of what I had said.

  She smiled at him and said, “Isn’t she lovely? We’ve had the nicest morning. We were just about to have lunch so your timing is perfect!”

  “Well, I had made us some reservations for a Sunday carvery,” Jonathan said. “Georgina, you can head on now if you want.”

  “Oh no,” Áine said. “It’s not a day for some stuffy restaurant. Georgina brought some nice salad. We should enjoy that while the weather stays nice.”

  “Don’t feel obligated on my behalf,” I told her. “I can always take it home for the girls.”

  “No, no, my mouth has been watering at the very thought,” she said, smiling. “Jonathan doesn’t mind. Do you, Jonathan? You love a nice salad?”

  He seemed lost for words so I stood up and began to make my way towards the house. “I’ll get started on it then, shall I, and let you two have a bit of time together? I have some baked ham and crusty bread to go with it.”

  Jonathan smiled (actually smiled) and looked at me. “Well, that sounds good,” he said. “And if Auntie Áine would prefer a lighter lunch who am I to argue?”

  “Exactly,” Áine said. “Remember your place, young man.”

  They both laughed and I could see, for the first time, a family resemblance between the pair.

  As I rinsed the lettuce and tomatoes in the sink I glanced out the window and watched Áine and Jonathan as they talked. They had moved over from the flowerbeds and were sitting on the wrought-iron garden chairs to the right of the garden. They talked easily and it was lovely to see how they interacted. Jonathan seemed so much softer when he didn’t realise he was being watched – and Áine seemed to light up in his company in a way I hadn’t seen before. It warmed my heart to be honest – to see how they obviously cared for each other and in those few moments I re-evaluated just a little how I felt about Jonathan. Maybe he wasn’t the completely obnoxious creature I had him pegged as.

  I busied myself chopping the vegetables, slicing the ham and bread, and curling the butter onto a saucer ready for spreading. If I said so myself, it looked absolutely delicious and, with a nice pot of tea to wash it all down, I was sure it would hit the spot. Pleased with how I had laid the table I walked to the back door to call Jonathan and Áine in – but, as I caught sight of them again, I realised something had changed. They were clutching hands over the small wrought-iron table and Áine’s face was serious and stern. Jonathan was shaking his head – and while I couldn’t see the expression on his face his whole body had tensed up. I watched as Áine reached out and placed her hand softly on his cheek – and I watched as she started to cry, but then settled herself and offered him a weak smile. Suddenly I felt as though I was intruding on something I shouldn’t be a party to, so I quickly turned my back, took my place at the large kitchen table in front of the lovely lunch I had prepared and told myself I would give them at least five minutes before I peeked out again and called them in for something to eat.

  It felt awkward – and I felt for both of them, but I was simply an outsider in their lives, someone who had known them a matter of weeks and it wasn’t my place to ask too many questions and stick my nose in too far. God knows I was pushing my luck as it was. I poured myself a cup of tea, buttered an end piece of the crusty baguette and sat back and waited.

  When I looked out the door again, they were talking more companionably so I called them in for lunch. If their smiles were a bit too bright, I pretended to notice nothing and we sat down and began to eat together.

  “This is lovely,” Jonathan said, smiling.

  “Thank you,” I replied, feeling myself blush.

  “I told you it would be nicer than dinner out in some stuffy restaurant,” Áine said, slathering some butter onto her bread. “Don’t you remember when we all used to sit round this table and eat lunches like this when you were little?”

  “In those lovely warm summers?” Jonathan said.

  “Yes,” Áine laughed, loading her bread with thick-cut ham. “We had some good times.”

  “There are good times still waiting, Auntie,” Jonathan said, with a smaller smile this time – but Áine just laughed again – a smaller laugh.

  After lunch Áine couldn’t stop herself stifling a yawn or four. I set her up on her favourite chair, with a soft blanket over her knees and an old black-and-white movie on the television but it wasn’t long before she had dozed off.

  I made my way to the kitchen with the intention of cleaning up before leaving – but there was Jonathan, his arms in the sink, washing the dishes, the rest of the kitchen already gleaming.

  He looked around at me and smiled. “I’m not averse to washing up sometimes,” he said.

  “Feel free!” I laughed. “Look, I’ll leave you to it. Sorry for gate-crashing your Sunday with your aunt.”

  “Did you not want to talk to me? I got your text. Or are you in a rush to get off?”

  “No, not at all,” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “My girls won’t be home for a few hours yet – but it’s not that important, really.” Seeing how he had interacted with Áine, how they had shared their
memories over lunch, I wondered if I was being a bit gung-ho about things.

  “If it’s about my aunt, it’s important,” he said, drying his hands and turning to face me, crossing his arms.

  “I’ve been researching ‘reminiscence work’,” I started. “Have you noticed Áine seems to light up when talking about the past?”

  “Well, of course I have,” he said brusquely. His tone had turned once again to awkward.

  “Sorry,” I offered, “of course you must have. It’s obvious you are close. It’s just the more memory work we do with Áine, the more we can help slow the progress of her illness. It mightn’t be much – but it’s something. And it would give her a certain sense of confidence.”

  “I’m sorry too,” he offered. “For my tone. I just – you know – find it hard sometimes, knowing what to do for the best. Give me a business deal and I know just what to do. Give me this … this awful illness … and I feel as if I’m just flapping around.”

  “You seem to be doing a good enough job,” I offered. “Áine is content.”

  “Not content enough,” he replied, staring downwards. “But anyway – what can I do to help?”

  “Do you have any photo albums? Memories. Things she used to like? I’ve been able to tease a certain amount out of her – but with your help I think we could do much more.”

  He took a deep breath. “Of course,” he said. “Anything that will help.”

  “Great,” I smiled. “It can’t do any harm.”

  “Georgina,” Jonathan said, looking straight at me, “thank you. Thank you for caring enough to go above and beyond.”

  “I do care for her,” I said, finding to my shock that a lump had formed in my throat. “I mightn’t always get it right – but I do try.”

  “Which of us always gets it right?” he said with a smile.

  I found myself feeling flustered by his gaze. Perhaps, hat or not, I had caught too much sun.

  “I’ll dig some pictures out,” he said. “We’ll talk through it.”

  I nodded, finding myself unable to speak, and I lifted my bag. Smiled and gave a little wave.

  Only as I left the kitchen did I find my voice coming back to me. “That would be great. Look, I have to run. Take care, bye now. Bye bye.”

  Chapter 16

  1964

  The first day of term held a different meaning for Áine that year. She always felt a certain excitement returning to the classroom – to the unique smell of the newly varnished floorboards, the fresh chalk, the clean duster. She loved the smell of the jotters – white and clean, not yet muddied by tiny hands trying to find the correct way to hold their pencils and crayons and form their words on the sheets.

  She loved the blank canvas of the classroom walls – wondering what this year’s offering of pupils would bring, what pictures they would paint, how they would adorn the walls. She had made sure the pencil pots were filled, that everything was good to go. But she couldn’t control the extra nervousness she felt, knowing that this year everything had changed. Lorcan would be there as he always was – but in previous years she didn’t know what it felt like to kiss him. She hadn’t known what it felt like to walk hand in hand with him or how he could make her laugh. She had never gone back into her workplace as a woman with a boyfriend before. The summer had changed her – in so many ways – that she was sure her colleagues would be able to see the confidence beam from her as she walked the corridors of the old school building.

  She had even invested in a new skirt and blouse for the first day back and had bought a pair of shoes with the slightest of heels which made her feel feminine. She had taken extra time to fix her hair and had dabbed her face with pressed powder and a little blush. Her mother had commented on her appearance as she had prepared to leave the house.

  “My goodness, dear, you have a lovely glow about you. You should hope not to see too much of your young man during the day because you will be sure to distract him from his work.”

  “He teaches at the other end of the school, Mother,” Áine said, blushing at how easily her mother had seen through her attempts to doll herself up.

  “But I’m sure you will see each other in the staffroom. Don’t be making a show of yourself.”

  “I’m hardly going to French-kiss him over the Rich Teas, Mother,” Áine said and laughed as her mother’s face paled.

  “I should hope not. You were raised better than that.”

  “I really was, Mother. Please don’t worry. I promise I will do nothing to embarrass you. I just wanted to put my best foot forward. But I really like him, Mother. I really do.”

  Rosaleen smiled and took her daughter’s hand in her own. Áine couldn’t help but notice how gnarled her mother’s hands were becoming – how they were losing the softness she had cherished as a child. “All I want, my darling, is for you to be happy.”

  “I know, Mother, and I am happy. I really am.”

  “That’s great, pet,” Rosaleen said, taking up her seat by the range.

  Áine had done what she could to make sure her mother’s day would be as easy as possible. She had left a pot of soup ready to be reheated and the bread for lunch had been sliced and was ready to be buttered. The fire in the sitting room was set – a quick strike of a match and it would be lit.

  “You will be fine, won’t you, Mother?”

  “Don’t you worry about me,” Rosaleen said. “I have my book here and you have me ruined. After a summer with the lot of you around my feet it will be blissful having the house to myself.”

  “As long as you are sure,” Áine said, aware there was touch of emotion in her mother’s voice.

  “I’m sure. You’re a great teacher, Miss Quigley, and you have a class of youngsters waiting to be educated – not to mention your young man waiting to see you looking so pretty. You’d better hurry or you’ll be late.”

  “I love you,” Áine said, pulling on her overcoat and picking up her satchel. “I won’t be late and I have a lovely piece of chicken for our dinner.”

  “Take your time, pet, and sure why don’t you invite that young man of yours over some night for tea? Isn’t it about time I met him?”

  Áine smiled as she walked the short distance to the school, meeting parents bringing their charges to school for the first day of term – girls in pigtails and pony-tails, boys with their cowlicks slicked down. The air was fresh, the breeze still had a hint of warmth to it and everything felt right with the world.

  Present Day

  By the time I arrived at Áine’s the following day I had convinced myself that my feeling flustered the day before was indeed down to the warmth of the spring day, the morning spent in the garden and an inordinate amount of heat directed right at my head. Sunstroke, I had heard, could make you a little delusional. Jonathan Hegarty had not, I told myself, made me feel a little bit wobbly at the knees. Yes, he had shown a gentler side of himself and I always was a sucker for a vulnerable man. Matthew used to be able to wrap me about his little finger with a doe-eyed look and a downturned smile. But, I was not to forget that Jonathan Hegarty had shown me on more than one occasion that he could also be insufferably arrogant. And, with Matthew in my life, I already had one too many insufferably arrogant men to be coping with.

  I dusted myself off and walked up the drive to Temple Muse, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t see him that day – not while it was still warm and I was probably still suffering from sunstroke. Because, as much as I tried, I couldn’t help but have the image of his smiling face enter my mind on an uncomfortably regular basis.

  Things were not helped by Áine greeting me with a bright smile. “Jonathan’s here. Wait until you see what he has with him.”

  If it was at all possible, my heart leapt and sank at the same time – which made me feel a little nauseous. Of course, I put that down to the sunstroke. Nothing else.

  “This is my mother, on Charlotte’s wedding day,” Áine said, handing the photo to me.

  “She was a very hands
ome woman,” I told her. “She looks so glamorous here.”

  We were sitting at the kitchen table, pictures that Jonathan had brought scattered all around us.

  Jonathan, who had simply said hello when I arrived, was making a cup of tea and had poured some chocolate biscuits onto a plate.

  Áine stroked the picture as I held it in my hands. “I remember the row they had over what she should wear. They never did agree on anything. But, of course, Mother gave in – she always did when it came to Charlotte.”

  Jonathan carried two mugs of tea to the table. “Her bark was always worse than her bite,” he said softly. “She liked to pretend she was fierce as old boots, but she was as soft as they came.”

  Áine took the photo and held it to her chest. All I could do was watch – I saw how she closed her eyes, how her grip on the photo became tighter as if the act of physically holding onto the grainy image would help her keep the memories of the woman before her alive in her mind.

  “I miss her,” Áine said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I really miss her.”

  Momentarily Jonathan looked panicked and he looked at me, as if wanting me to provide some sort of anchor for this moment.

  I took a deep breath and took Áine’s hand. “It’s okay to miss her,” I said. “If you miss her, it means you remember her. And that’s a good thing.”

  “She was a good woman,” Jonathan said. “I think she had a tough life – she had a lot of loss in her life.”

  “She always had a soft spot for you and Emma. She would turn into a different person when you two were around,” Áine said. “She loved being a grandmother. She might have had a bark on her at times but she was proud of you and your sister – more than anything else in the world.”

  “Oh, I think she was proud of you too, Auntie Áine. You did so much for her.”