Still You

by Claire Allan

  Rosaleen just stared ahead and Áine realised her mother was lost herself and that she was unlikely to snap out of her grief any time soon.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have come,” Olive said, lifting her handbag and making to stand up.

  “Perhaps,” Rosaleen said.

  “I wanted you to know we loved her too,” Olive said, her voice breaking. “She was like the daughter we never had. Jack was always no unsettled until he found her – and I’ll always love her for that – for how settled she made him. She was an amazing young woman. But you must also know he wasn’t responsible for what happened. You heard what the police said – it was a tragic accident.”

  Rosaleen didn’t speak and Olive knew there was no point in continuing the conversation.

  “I’ll see you out,” Áine said apologetically and she followed Olive into the hall. At the door she said, “I’m sorry about my mother. She can’t see past her own pain at the moment.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Olive said.

  “I think maybe you can. Please give her some time. This is tough on us all.”

  “Would you?” Olive said, taking Áine’s hand. “Would you speak to him? He might listen to you, if your mother can’t bring herself to. I know you care for those children. I know you want them to be safe and happy. I just want him to be safe too. You understand, don’t you?”

  Áine stood and looked at the desperation in the eyes of the older woman.

  “Please, just think about it, Áine. Charlotte would want to know he is okay. She would want the children to be happy.”

  Áine bit her lip and felt the tears that she had so far managed to keep at bay form in her eyes.

  “Just think about it?” Olive repeated.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, almost in a whisper, afraid that her mother would hear.

  “I can’t ask more,” Olive said, offering an awkward hug which Áine pulled back from.

  This was messier than she liked, she thought, as she closed the door and walked back into the sitting room where Rosaleen continued to stare into the embers of the fire.

  “I’ll put another shovel of coal on, Mother,” she said. “I don’t want you getting cold.”

  Present Day

  “I’m a bit tired today,” Áine said. “Must have spent too much time in the garden yesterday. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “Well, sure we can just take it easy today,” I told her – but she seemed quieter and duller than yesterday – as if some of the colour had drained out of her world since I had left her sleeping so soundly the afternoon before.

  “I dreamt of them last night,” she whispered, over a cup of tea.

  Her voice was so quiet it took me a moment to figure out what she had said. I sat down opposite her and waited for her to continue.

  “I dreamt of Charlotte, and Lorcan, and my mother … and Jack. I dreamt of them all – strange dreams where they were in and out of different rooms and I was trying to find them. I could hear their voices, see them sometimes even, but when I got close they were gone again or the voices would move and I couldn’t touch them or get to them. They were so close to me.”

  “I would say those pictures dredged up a few memories,” I said softly.

  “They did,” she said. “So many memories. Do you ever wonder if you made the right choices? Or wonder what would have happened if you had taken a different path?”

  “All the time,” I said. “Especially at the moment – I think all of us do.”

  “They say everything happens for a reason – but some things never appear to make sense no matter how hard you look at them.”

  “That’s certainly true,” I said.

  “Charlotte shouldn’t have died. But then if she hadn’t …” Áine shook her head.

  I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

  She shook her head again. “Would you mind if I had a little nap today?” she said. “I really am very tired.”

  “Of course, Áine. I’ll get you your blanket. We have the rest of the day ahead of us, sure – you do what you need to.”

  “You’re very good to me,” Áine said, as her eyes closed.

  I felt at a loss in the house while she slept. I was so used, already, to her constant company and our chatter. I tidied – but there was not much to do, Maria having already been in that morning. I did some ironing, and made sure the fire was set for later. I filled in some paperwork for Brightly Care and still Áine slept. I hoped her dreams were less troubled than the night before – and that she found some peace.

  And then, for the first time unafraid that he might be cross with me, I sent a quick text to Jonathan just to tell him that his aunt was a little unsettled that day – and had been dreaming of her family.

  “I’ll call over early,” he replied – and to my continued surprise that made me smile.

  My smile only faded when I heard Áine calling out in her sleep – some indistinct noise I couldn’t decipher but the tone was clear. It was grief-stricken.

  I knelt on the floor beside her, stroked her hand softly as she settled back to sleep – and I wondered did grief ever really pass?

  Chapter 20

  1964

  “Be careful you don’t get too attached,” Lorcan had warned.

  “I’m already attached,” she bit back, her tone fiercer than she had intended. “We’re talking about my niece and nephew.”

  “Who live in Italy – and who will go back to Italy.”

  “None of us know what will happen,” Áine said as they sat once again in his car outside her house.

  November had turned into December and Áine had managed, despite her mother’s wishes, to talk to Jack and tell him that he should still come home for Christmas. She had told him things would be tough enough without having to deal with that burden all on his own.

  “The children were expecting to come back then, anyway,” she said softly, neither of them mentioning that Charlotte had been planning to come back too.

  Jack had sounded different on the phone. There was no bravado, no confidence, just an air of defeat. He sounded tired and his grief made Áine’s own sorrow feel keener.

  But she had managed to get him to say yes, which had pleased Olive but horrified Rosaleen and Lorcan. Rosaleen was firmly in the anger stage of her grief and she had shouted at Áine that she was mad to have even considered having the children visit for Christmas.

  “We’ll have to put up a tree, go through the motions for them. I don’t want to go through the motions. Christmas and all it entails can go to hell and stay there!” she had shouted.

  “Mother, it might do you good. Even if it seems impossible. We’ll have a bit of her here with us this year.”

  “Excuse me for being selfish, but I’d like all of her here instead!” Rosaleen had shouted before stomping up the stairs and slamming the door to her bedroom.

  Áine had been sure that Lorcan would understand and support her but he seemed put out at the very notion of the children coming.

  “I thought we might have spent some time together over Christmas,” he had said.

  “There is no reason we can’t. You know you are always welcome at our house,” she had said even though he seemed to prefer sitting in his car outside in the drive these days.

  He had looked pained. “I meant I thought we could have had some time together – you know, alone.”

  She was struck by the fact that he didn’t understand just why she had to be there for her family now. Charlotte had not been long dead – she couldn’t just be expected to carry on as if everything was how it had been before her sister’s death. Especially when her mother was still in free fall and the prospect loomed of two bereaved children coming to spend Christmas with them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, as softly as she could muster. “I know this is difficult but I promise we will have time for each other. It doesn’t mean I care for you any less – I just have to support my mother. You have seen how distraught she
is, Lorcan.”

  He sighed. “Of course. And you wonder why I don’t like to visit? It’s so oppressive. I don’t mean to hurt you, but it’s too much. Every conversation is about Charlotte. Her picture stares down from every wall and I’m afraid to open my mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing. We’re allowed to move on, you know. You are allowed to be happy.”

  Áine said nothing, but she felt heart sink. It was easy for Lorcan to say it was okay to move on. What did he have to move on from? He had met Charlotte a handful of times. He didn’t know her – not the real her. He wasn’t grieving for her – if anything he was grieving for their fledgling relationship – one which she had hoped would continue once things settled down a bit. She feared, however, that it wasn’t going to settle down quick enough for Lorcan’s liking – and she couldn’t help but feel bitterly disappointed in him.

  He reached across and took her hand. “Áine Quigley, you know I love you, don’t you? I just want to see you more. We should be having more fun at this stage in our relationship. I just want us to have fun.”

  She let him kiss her but she struggled to return his affection and, as she got out of the car and climbed the steps of her house, she started to realise that not only had she lost Charlotte but she had lost Lorcan as well.

  It was cool and crisp the morning of December 20th. The windows of Áine’s bedroom had frosted over and she breathed on the glass and polished it to see out as she got dressed. Shivering, she thought of how she wanted the house to appear as cosy and comforting as possible when Jack arrived with the children. Olive had promised to come over as well and Rosaleen had promised to keep a civil tongue in her head – at least in front of the children. She refused to get excited about it though whereas, whenever Áine thought of seeing her niece and nephew again, she felt a curious mixture of excitement and terror. They had been through so much – they would have changed – but they were still the young boy and girl who had run into the kitchen and snatched cookies from the cooling tray or begged for extra jam on their scones or who would sit with her in the garden as she read to them or they played together. They were still children and they still needed her.

  But she feared how they would be, so she had gone out of her way to make things as welcoming as she could. She had prepared a bedroom for them to share, having agreed with Jack that they could stay for a few nights on their own while he stayed with his family.

  She had bought new teddy bears which she had laid on their pillows and had also bought them new pyjamas, slippers and dressing gowns. She had hung stockings on the end of their beds and had set the fire in their room. She would light it before they went to bed and she would sit with them until they fell asleep.

  Now she set about preparing the rest of the house. A tree, undressed, stood by the window in the living room with a box of lights and decorations on the floor. She wondered if the children would like to help her dress the tree – she’d give them the option anyway. She lit the fire, and moved through to the kitchen where she lit the stove and set about baking some of her niece and nephew’s favourite treats. She lost herself in the simple acts of mixing and measuring, and closed her eyes to allow the aromas of the freshly baked cookies and fairy cakes to wash over her.

  When everything was under control, she poured herself a cup of tea, wrapped her heavy woollen cardigan around her and stepped out the back door onto the steps where she had sat with Charlotte so many times.

  Normally she hated the garden at this time of year – when all the spring and summer flowers were long dead and when the lush oranges and yellows of the autumn leaves had long blown away. But on this crisp morning, as the dewdrops, some frozen, twinkled on the frost-laden grass and a soft breeze shook the bare branches of the trees, she felt strangely at peace.

  She could, if she closed her eyes, imagine Charlotte sitting there beside her – nudging her to share the gossip, telling her she needed to spend less time in the kitchen, begging her to come and visit them all in Italy. She swore, as she sat there, she could feel her sister’s arms around her and she could hear her soft laugh.

  “I’ll look after them,” she said to the empty garden. “Please don’t worry. I promise you they will be okay. And I promise you that I will come and visit you, Charlotte. I will.”

  She was roused from her reverie by the ringing of the doorbell and she took a deep breath, feeling Charlotte was with her as she brushed down her skirt and headed to the door to welcome back the part of her family which was forever broken.

  Present Day

  “How is she now?” Jonathan asked as he walked into the kitchen.

  I was preparing a simple dinner – potatoes and salmon – for Áine and she was sitting in the garden, soaking up the sun.

  She had seemed only marginally less tired when she woke up but she hadn’t been very talkative. It was such a change from the days before that I wondered if I had pushed her too far. Although I wasn’t going to voice that to Jonathan. I didn’t think I needed to anyway. He may well have been thinking the same thing.

  “She’s quiet – but she has been out in the garden for a while. She said she just wants some time alone.”

  He peeked out the window at her.

  “I’m sure she would be more than happy to see you though. She’s always happy to see you,” I offered.

  He smiled – a weak smile but one which made me blush anyway. “I never thought I would ever have to worry about her,” he said. “She was always so strong.”

  “I think she still is – but we all have our moments.”

  “I suppose,” he said, before pushing open the back door and walking out toward Áine.

  Her face lit up instantly on seeing him and she stood up and pulled him into a hug. It was heart-warming to see them both together – and remarkable how her mood lifted.

  She was smiling broadly when she came in for dinner. “Look who came to visit,” she said, smiling. “As if he knew I needed to see him earlier today.”

  “He’s a very good nephew to you,” I said with a smile.

  “I’m the best, aren’t I, Auntie?” Jonathan said, smiling at me.

  It was amazing, their bond – and how, when nothing else could fix her, he could.

  “Mum is making us go and bake scones with an old woman,” Sorcha announced with her usual level of teenage apathy over dinner that night with Sinéad, Peter and their daughter Aoibheann.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Eve said. “It could be fun.”

  I watched as Sorcha mimicked her sister, then contorted her face into an expression of disgust.

  “Oh my God, Eve. Could you be any more of a lick-arse?” she announced, which caused Aoibheann – three years older than my girls – to snort in an undignified manner.

  “Sorcha! Please!” I said. “Would you mind your language!”

  “I’ve heard worse when Madam was that age,” Sinéad said, which caused Aoibheann to throw her an equally disgusted look. “But nonetheless, Sorcha, if you could refrain from that kind of talk while here, that would be lovely.”

  Sorcha had the good grace to blush at being told off by Sinéad. She looked up to my very glamorous friend – and the pair had become close over the years, and even more so since Matthew had left.

  “Áine’s lovely,” I said. “You don’t even have to stay for long, but it would be good to get to know her. I’ll be working closely with her for a while and I think it would be nice for you to meet her.”

  “But old people are so uncool,” Sorcha said. “We have nothing in common. I bet her house doesn’t even have Wifi!”

  I had to bite back a laugh at just how stricken she sounded at the thought of losing her access to Instagram for a whole hour.

  “It’ll be no bad thing to leave off the internet for a bit,” I said. “Come on, Sorcha, I don’t ask you to do much for me.”

  “Whatever,” Sorcha said before continuing with her dinner and beginning a conversation with Aoibheann about the latest series of The Voice.


  Eve reached over and gave my hand a little squeeze and I was pretty sure I saw Sorcha mouth ‘lick-arse’ out of the corner of her mouth again, but I chose to ignore it.

  “I think you grasp any new opportunity when you get it, even if you’re not sure at first if it’s for you,” Sinéad said – and, by the way she looked at me, I knew she was talking about more than the girls going to bake scones with Áine.

  In fact, Sinéad had cornered me almost as soon as we had arrived for dinner earlier. She had dispatched the girls to Aoibheann’s room and had sat me down opposite her at the kitchen island, with a coffee in hand, and told me to spill all.

  “There’s nothing to spill. Not more than I told you anyway. I saw him today. Áine was a little unsettled and he came over early to see her.

  “Yeah, to see her,” Sinéad mocked, laughing.

  “It was to see her. I texted him and told him she was having an off day.”

  “So you invited him over?” Sinéad raised an eyebrow.

  “Stop it!” I chided her, but I found myself smiling. “I won’t deny it was nice to see him. Now that he has shown more than the standoffish, snobby side of himself, he’s good company.”

  “Good-looking good company?”

  “He’s older than me – a lot.”

  “So’s Harrison Ford – and you wouldn’t say no,” Sinéad teased.

  “Look,” I said, “it is what it is. I work for him. It’s all very emotional. But yes, he is handsome. And I do like his company – but I like Áine’s too. That’s all it is.”

  But even as I spoke I knew that wasn’t all it was. I had felt a flicker of something when Jonathan had visited that afternoon. When he had taken me aside to talk to me more about how his aunt had been, I had been aware that he stood a little closer than he had done before. I was acutely aware of the feel of his breath on my face as he talked, the fine downy hairs on his arms as he scratched his chin, the smell of his aftershave. I had been aware of how when he listened to my reply, he really listened. His face was set in deep concentration when I spoke – and when I smiled and told him I was sure the following day would be better – he had smiled back, the soft wrinkles of his eyes crinkling.